All Through The House (17 page)

Abigail held up one finger, the phone crooked between her
ear and shoulder. "Well," she finished as cheerily as possible,
"if you do decide to sell, I hope you'll keep us in mind. I'd be happy to
give you a free market evaluation. There's absolutely no obligation."

When she hung up the receiver, she said, "Sure, Nate,
come on in."

He came across the small space with long, buoyant strides.
He wore a pinstriped blue dress shirt tucked into worn blue jeans, a contrast
that somehow emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and his rangy, muscular
frame. The dress shirt lost a little something with its cuffs rolled up, while
the narrow tie had been tugged loose at his neck. Even so, the sight of him
took her breath away.

"Is this the latest in formal attire?" she teased,
trying to hide her reaction.

Nate grinned, that wholehearted smile that creased his lean
cheeks and made his eyes sparkle devilishly. "You bet. Yuppie chic. In
other words, when I'm behind a desk I look dressed up. Under it, I'm
comfortable."

Abigail stood. "Okay, what are you hiding back
there?"

He bowed with all the savoir-faire of a nineteenth century
dandy. "Just something to remind you of me." From behind his back he
produced a magnificent bouquet of old roses, mauve and pink and faded crimson.
Some blooms were loose, their elegance tattered, while others were packed with
petals, precisely quartered.

Abigail didn't even have to bend her head to smell the
fragrance, rich and evocative. "Oh, Nate."

"Got a vase?"

"Nothing worthy of roses like these," she said,
"but I must have a jar somewhere. Just a minute."

Actually, the watery green glass canning jar suited the
roses that overflowed it. Abigail set it on her desk, too, crowded between the
large book Nate had given her and the desk calendar with the tiny pewter
castle. She tilted her head and smiled. "What do you think?"

He didn't even look at the roses. His gaze was hungrily
intent on her face, she discovered. "I think," he said huskily,
"that I have to kiss you."

Despite the still-open office door, he suited action to
words. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured. "Sometimes I can
hardly believe you're mine."

At the possessive words, Abigail's blood chilled.
"Hey," she said, pulling back in his embrace, "do you think
somebody gift-wrapped me for you?"

Nate apparently noticed nothing out of the ordinary in her
tone. His eyes skimmed from her mouth down her body, in a perusal as intimate
as his touch. "Oh, I don't know," he murmured. "If I were going
to wrap you, I'd go for silk and lace." He released her and dropped
another quick kiss on her lips, still tingling from the last one. "Listen,
I've got to run. I just wanted to make sure you don't forget me even for a
second."

Then he was gone, leaving Abigail standing beside her desk,
breathing the heavy fragrance of old roses.

Several petals had dropped onto the book; one silvery-pink
rose petal lay on her calendar. When the phone rang, she answered it, but all
the while she was conscious of the roses. No, she wouldn't forget Nate, but
suddenly, desperately, she wanted to. The rich fragrance was so powerful it
made her claustrophobic. It was as though he had bound her in some way.

I don't want you to forget me for even a second. It was so
familiar. All so familiar. James would lower his voice intimately as he kissed
her goodbye in the morning. "Remember," he would murmur, "part
of me is with you all the time." He had given her roses, too, perfect
hybrid teas. And gifts, nearly every day; lacy negligees, flowers, books, music
tapes, jewelry. At first, so romantic; at the end, she had felt weighted down.
Possessed. Bought.

Never again.

Abigail went in the tiny bathroom and turned on the water,
then stared at herself in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes were huge and
dark, her face pale and her lipstick smeared. "Why?" she whispered.
Why couldn't Nate have left things the way they were? Why couldn't they enjoy
each other without moving so fast, without demands?

Running scared by Sunday evening, she had almost convinced
herself to tell Nate she couldn't see him for a while. When she was with him,
it was easy to tell herself he was worth any risk—but away from him she could
be more dispassionate. His hints of possession, his very satisfaction in her
and in their relationship, had begun to remind her too much of the past she had
escaped.

By the time he arrived at six o'clock, Abigail's mouth was
dry and her pulse racing. Kate seemed to pick up on her tension, because she
hovered while Abigail changed into a sundress that bared lightly tanned
shoulders and a slender back. She gazed at herself in her full-length mirror.

"I don't know," she mumbled, "maybe it's
too...." Sexy?

"You look pretty, Mommy. You're lots prettier than
Teacher Patty."

"Why, thank you." Her smile trembled and she felt
hot tears under her eyelids as she bent to hug her daughter. "Oh,
heck," she mumbled.

"Are you crying?" Kate's anxious face stared up at
her. "Why are you crying?"

"I don't know." Abigail sank onto the bed,
gathered her small daughter into her arms, and held her tightly, cheek against
the soft dark hair. "I'm just so mixed up."

"Is Nate going to be my daddy?"

Her head shot up and she held the child away from her.
"What would make you think...?"

"I saw you kissing." The vivid blue eyes were
scared. "Are you mad at me, Mommy?"

Her breath rushed out as she hugged Kate again. "Oh,
no, Sunshine, of course not. No, I don't think Nate's going to be your daddy.
That's a pretty drastic step, don't you think?" She lightened her voice.
"We're doing pretty well on our own, huh?"

"I like Nate," Kate mumbled into her shoulder.

"I do, too," Abigail said. That's the trouble, she
thought, but didn't say.

"I wish I were going with you tonight," Kate
nodded.

Abigail tried to smile at her daughter. "It's a pretty
lousy deal, isn't it?"

The doorbell rang just then and Kate leaped from the bed to
race for the front door. "I'll get it!"

"It'd take an Olympic sprinter to beat you,"
Abigail called after her. Assuming Erika was here, she went ahead and put on
lipstick and earrings, took one last dubious glance at herself in the
deep-rose-and-lime-green sundress, and headed for the living room, high-heeled
sandals in one hand.

The rumble of a deep voice was her first warning. She
stopped dead in the living-room doorway, unnoticed for a moment. Nate sat on
the couch, Kate perched on one knee.

"Sounds like you were pretty brave," he said
gravely.

"Well, I did cry," Kate admitted. "The
rainbow climber is high. Almost as high as you when you're standing up. I
needed two bandages."

"Can I see?" he asked.

She pulled up her leggings to show him the two bandages,
side by side.

"That is a big scratch," Nate said solemnly.
"Did your teacher kiss it, too?"

"She doesn't do things like that." Kate was
clearly discontented.

"I bet your mom made up for it." He turned his
head, as though mention of her had awakened his instincts. "Speaking of
which...." His voice became deeper and he set Kate on her feet so he could
stand himself. "Your daughter was showing off her wounds."

"I hear." The glint in his eyes as they took in
her bare shoulders warmed Abigail, loosening the bands that had squeezed her
chest. Suddenly feeling awkward and very shy, she said, "Uh, I'd better
call the sitter and see what's holding her up. I hope she didn't forget
us."

"I have a better idea," Nate interrupted. He
rested one big hand on Kate's curly dark head. "What would you say to a
threesome? MacDonald's? Alfy's Pizza? Maybe we could even find a kids'
movie."

Kate stood very still, her eyes widening. "Can we,
Mommy?" she begged.

Abigail was totally disarmed. "It sounds good to
me," she agreed, smiling at Nate and her daughter. "Let me call
Erika, and you find your shoes, Katie Rose. Maybe Nate can help you put them
on."

"If I remember how to tie a lace," he said. That
engaging, sexy, and very unpaternal smile flashed at Abigail before he trailed
her small daughter to the hall closet.

A few minutes later they were on their way in Abigail’s car,
Kate's laces very firmly tied and double-knotted. Nate had suggested she drive,
since his pickup had only two bucket seats. From the dashboard, Abigail handed
the folded newspaper with the movie section to Nate. "Here, make yourself
useful."

He accepted it and after a moment made a suggestion.

"Forget Kate, I'd have nightmares," Abigail said.

"That's not a prerogative of adult movies. When I was a
kid, The Wizard of Oz gave me nightmares."

"Me, too," Abigail said, remembering. "Those
dark twisted trees grabbing at Dorothy." She pretended to shiver.

"I wanted ruby-red slippers like hers," Nate said.
Something in his voice made Abigail turn her head to look at him. "I
wanted to click my heels together and make my wishes come true."

"My mother told me they only work in Oz."

His face was impassive. "Yeah, well, my father didn't
think little boys should want stuff like that."

Abigail would have liked to pursue the subject, but with
Kate listening she didn't dare. So she merely said, "So, what's the
verdict? Pizza or hamburgers?"

Hamburgers won, as did Disney's latest animated fairy tale.
Kate, who always worried during scary scenes, sat on Abigail's lap for half the
movie and on Nate's for the rest. He groaned when they stood up to leave while
the credits rolled on the big screen.

"My legs are dead."

"You just have to toughen up," Abigail informed
him heartlessly.

"Hey, I didn't get to start like you did when she
weighed six pounds." To give the lie to his grumbles, he effortlessly
swung a delighted Kate up to his shoulders, where she clutched his hair.

Abigail laughed. "Actually, she weighed eight and a
half pounds. And to think she seemed heavy then!"

It wasn't quite nine o'clock, and not dark yet, but Kate
dropped off to sleep almost the minute they pulled out of the parking lot,
lulled by the car engine. In the rearview mirror, Abigail gazed fondly at her
daughter: one pink cheek compressed against the door, thumb sagging from her
mouth, slow, even breaths.

Nate watched her, too. "I wish I could drop off like
that."

"No kidding." Abigail thought of the hours she'd
lain in bed this week, staring up at the dark ceiling and agonizing. Now the
decision she thought she had made was unmade, all because Nate had thought more
about Kate tonight than his own wishes.

"Will she stay asleep?" he asked hopefully.

Abigail's blood quickened. "Um hm."

"Deeply asleep?"

She nodded, slanting a shy glance at him. His expression had
changed and the set of his mouth was more sensuous, his eyes darker, with that
purposeful glint that made her heart skip.

"Then what are we waiting for?" He nodded ahead,
at the light that had just turned green. "Step on it, lady."

Abigail stepped on it. During the half-hour drive home Nate
kept his hands to himself, but her prickly awareness of him beside her shredded
her concentration. Once there, he carried Kate inside, draped sleepily over his
shoulder. Following, Abigail felt a peculiar twisting sensation in her chest.
Her sudden thought unsettled her. That's what a daddy should look like.

Oh, Lord, not her, too. She should be grateful Kate wasn't
awake enough to know who carried her to bed. If she already had dreams of Nate
as a daddy, this would be the last straw. It wouldn't be fair to let her get
her hopes up, when Abigail had no intention of letting her feelings for Nate
take her that far.

No intention at all.

She tried to remind herself of that while she slipped Kate's
shoes, socks, and pants off, then tucked the covers around her chin and settled
her blankie within easy reach. She tried to remind herself again when she
stepped out of her daughter's bedroom to find Nate waiting in the hall, leaning
lazily against the wall.

"About time," he said. The glint in his eyes had
turned a molten glow, hot and passionate, melting Abigail’s reservations.
Whatever resistance she had left crumbled beneath the gentleness of his kiss.

She wouldn't worry about the future, she decided hazily as
she wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself be molded to his strong
body. Not now, anyway. Not tonight.

*****

Their next dinner together was quite different from
MacDonald's plastic booths and children's cartoons. It was separated by the
space of a week from that night, and by two more gifts. Just as the petals fell
from the roses, Nate delivered another batch, this time mixed with deep purple
lavender and white dianthus. The fragrance was even headier, more
unforgettable. The other present was a pewter knight to go with the castle.

Abigail smelled the flowers, gazed at the tiny knight
brandishing a sword, and tried to do her job. She tried very hard not to think
about Nate constantly. Tried, and failed.

A silent dialogue seemed to run in her head constantly. He's
a nice man, one side of her argued. Sexy, kind, good to Kate, everything I've
ever dreamed about.

Possessive, selfish, demanding, the other side of her
insisted. Something has to give, he said. Remember? Want to bet on what gives?

No! He can learn, can't he? He's not crazy possessive, not
like James. Look at how much Kate likes him. James wouldn't even acknowledge
her existence if he could help it.

Maybe Nate's just a little smarter. Ever think of that?
Maybe he knows the only way you'll ever be "his" is if he can charm
Kate into wanting him, too. Maybe he calculated every time he had to lean over
to pick up that stupid toy on wheels from the floor, every second of that
Disney movie.